


A Doppelganger and an Operative Walk into a Bar

by uglyNicc



Series: A Doppelganger and an Operative [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, If you're bothered by vague mentions of urinals and such while ppl are doin it, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Wall Sex, there is some of that in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 04:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyNicc/pseuds/uglyNicc
Summary: Good and drunk, Tim was filled with just the right blend of self loathing and lack of inhibitions that banging a stranger in the bathroom of a seedy bar sounded like a sound course of action





	A Doppelganger and an Operative Walk into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> So long story short, I drew [this](https://uglynicc-kitchensink.tumblr.com/post/184754801236/stop-me-if-youve-heard-this-one-but-an-operative)...and became obsessed with the idea and gained a fun new crack ship in the process. 
> 
> Keep in mind I'm writing this before Borderlands 3 is even out, so all my knowledge of Zane is based on a few gameplay vids and some tidbits of info. 
> 
> I might come back and tweak someday if this turns out to be wildly ooc, but still, hope it's an enjoyable read (by all means let me know in the comments if you think so *puts on sunglasses and makes fingerguns*)

Tim took a gulp of his cocktail. It was a violent shade of purple and was too sugary even for a sweet tooth as prolific as his own, but the fruity beverage was easy to down, and Tim wanted to be drunk.

He’d come to Promethea on a contract to take out some high profile corporate type who’d screwed over one too many of the wrong people. It’d been a couple weeks since his last paying job and the doppelganger was quick to jump at what promised to be a relatively easy kill.

That was, at least, before he landed in the middle of an out-and-out war between Atlas and Maliwan. Not to be deterred by the chaos spilling into the streets and promenades of the Metroplex, Tim had tried making his way as covertly as possible to his mark’s location. He’d only been a couple blocks away before the ECHO came in that his target had been caught in an explosive blast, his mangled corpse now buried under several tons of office building.

It was only one of many kicks in the teeth recently, Tim thought darkly, taking another sugary mouthful of his drink. The last few contracts had been decent enough, but each had something go wrong that caused the doppelgänger undue stress and aggravation.

The drug lord who happened to have a plantation brimming with domesticated skags as her personal guard. The guy who had extensive cybernetic upgrades and armour covering two thirds of his body which his contact had failed to disclose.

Or, Tim shuddered, the job he’d taken before being told his target was deep within the Caustic Caverns on Pandora. That had been the worst one, without a doubt. He swore he still caught whiffs of that putrid smell in his nostrils. It was a special kind of disgusting that he was sure he’d never forget.

“Hello, //h u m a n//! May I offer you another //P r o m e t h e a n  S u n s e t//?”

Tim looked up at the Bartender bot, bobbing behind the counter jauntily as it cleared Tim’s empty glass. The bot must have been damaged during the Maliwan siege, if the sparks fizzing out from its frame were any indication. Tim grunted an affirmative. The robot remained where it was, twitching a bit as it hovered. “I am sorry //h u m a n//, but could you be more clear in your response?”

“Yes, another, please.”

The bot dipped cordially and whizzed away to prepare a fresh cocktail. When the bartender moved, Tim caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror behind the rows of bottles on the wall behind the bar, and let out a defeated sigh.

He looked terrible. There was a dusting of stubble along his jaw, and his grey-streaked hair hung in overgrown locks down to the collar of his jacket. A good portion of the grey had spread only recently in the past few years, a product of the increasing difficulties in finding work and any semblance of safety and security. The jacket had also seen better days, Tim thought. He should just toss it, or at least patch up some of the tears, maybe give the worn leather and metal accents a decent polish.

Once the bot returned with his beverage with a cheerful word, Tim cast his eye round the bar. He liked this place well enough, and probably would have chosen this dive even if it hadn’t been the only establishment nearby not blackened by scorch marks or barricaded shut. He let his weary gaze take in the surprisingly full drinking hole. The clientele were mostly off duty corporate troops and some colourful characters he assumed to be other contracted assassins and soldiers for hire, fighting for whichever side of this hostile takeover paid better.

But there were no sides here, just free flowing drinks, some very conspicuous pick ups, and the drone of conversation punctuated by frequent loud outbursts of drunken laughter and glass shattering.

It was easy to blend into the scenery amongst the hustle and bustle, and that’s what Tim wanted. The last thing he wanted was someone coming up to him asking why he looked so much like Handsome Jack, or some drunken slob picking a fight with who he thought _was_ actually Handsome Jack. Both happened more often than Tim liked, and were equally exhausting.

When Jack had died, so had any chance Tim might have had of making a decent wage or living a normal life. No one wanted to hire anyone who’d been insane enough to have extensive surgery to look like a tyrannical CEO, and there were a lot of hurt people out there waiting to pound on a living effigy of someone who’d caused them incredible loss and pain.

Shoulders sagging, he crossed his arms on the countertop and rested his chin on them, willing the alcohol to work faster so he could drown out his invasive thoughts in a drunken haze. Tim was tired right down to his bones, on his last hundred bucks with no clear direction of where he should go next. He'd been counting on this job, and not getting that payoff was a huge blow.  
  
“Just gimmie a pint, you daft piece of tin!”

Tim tilted his head to peer down the bar. A new arrival a few barstools away was muttering curses while the bartender turned to the taps at the end of the counter.

“Had enough of these stinkin’ bots, if it’s not the snotty baristas, it’s these shiteheads.”

Admittedly much more kitted out than Tim was, he could definitely tell the newcomer was a fellow gun for hire. The various weapons holsters, eyepatch, and what he immediately recognized as a digi-clone device, much sleeker and up to date than his own, were all dead giveaways. The doppelganger looked away hastily as a startlingly blue pupil darted in his direction.

“Do somethin’ for ya?” the man asked. Tim couldn’t place the accent but the voice was gruff, not quite the hot headed response of someone ready for a fight, but definitely not someone to mess with.

Not looking for trouble, Tim shook his head wearily. He sat upright, taking a sip of his beverage as he felt the stranger’s gaze on him.

After a few moments, there was an audible shift in the stranger’s tone. “Didn’t mean no harm,” he said in way of an apology, taking a deep swig of the beer the bot set in front of him. With a sigh of relish, he wiped his mouth with the back of a gloved hand, leaning casually on the bar. “Just a bit riled up dealing with all the assholes on this bleedin’ planet, ” he continued, taking another, more conservative gulp.

“You don’t look like one of ‘em though,” the man went on. “Fact, you look more like someone’s had a pretty rough go of it.”

Tim wondered why the man kept talking to him. He was looking for a drinking buddy as much as he was looking for someone to smash a beer bottle over this head.

“No rougher than anyone else here,” Tim replied, trying to placate his chatty new friend.

“Aye, you’re right there,” the stranger mused, glancing over his shoulder at the milling patrons. “But you’re the only one drawing my attention.”  
  
Tim frowned. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re dead set on not drawing attention.”

Heart skipping a beat, Tim stared at a stain on the countertop as casually as possible, fully aware of the blue eye scrutinizing him.

“Something wrong with wanting to drink in peace?” He threw out idly, mentally drafting an escape plan. Tim knew there were still bounties out on the remaining Jack clones, relatively modest sums offered by the Crimson Raiders so they could rest assured all of Jack’s legacy was wiped clean from the galaxy.

Tim had been the very first, undergoing the extensive reconstructive surgery, voice modulation, the works. With advancements in digistruct tech, Jack had been able to create convincing clones without these pricy procedures. The other clones could easily cast off Jack's likeness, continue their lives with their real faces, real voices.

Not Tim, though.

“Do I know you?”

Tim set his drink down a little rougher than he meant to.

“No,” he answered flatly, careful not to meet the other’s gaze.

“You look awfully familiar, is all.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

Downing the rest of his drink, Tim pushed himself up off his stool. “Gotta take a leak.” He felt the stranger’s eyes on him as he strode towards the restroom, resisting the urge to change direction and bolt out the front door.

In the restroom, he stood at the urinal, trying not to look at the man passed out in his own sick under a sink in the corner. Tim wondered if he should try sneaking out. There was a narrow window above the row of sinks that, if he stripped off his jacket and holsters, he could probably squeeze through.

He shook his head. After everything he'd been through, he thought, a lone assassin should be a piece of cake.

Washing his hands, Tim splashed water on his flushed face. His cheeks were warm, the alcohol circulating in his system, immersing him in the comforting fog he’d hoped for. 

He studied his reflection in the grimy mirror, peering into his green and blue eyes - Jack’s eyes - bleary and unfocused. He'd forgotten what his own eyes were like before the operation all those years ago. He’d started out as a kid in way over his head, drowning in debt. The years hadn’t necessarily been kind since then, but hell, he’d helped open a vault, defeated the monsterous creature within, and seen his fair share of insane shit since.

Exhaling a deep breath, Tim ran a gloved hand through his messy hair. He came here to get good and drunk and that’s what he was gonna do, no contract killer was going to interfere with that. Giving his gun holster and digiclone module a reassuring pat, he left the washroom.

When he returned to the bar, the potential assassin was still there, moved into the spot right next to Tim’s, where a fresh glass of Promethean Sunset was waiting.

“If anyone looked like they’re in need of a drink, it’s you,” the man explained, letting the bartender bot clear his empty mug and replace it with another, frothy beer.

Planting himself back on the barstool, Tim eyed the drink suspiciously.

As if reading his mind, his new companion chimed in. “It’s not poisoned, if that’s what’s stoppin’ ya.”

“This //h u m a n// is correct,” the bartender bot piped in helpfully amidst a sudden rain of sparks bouncing off it's metal plating. “//P o i s o n// is not an ingredient we permit in this establishment.”

Snorting, the stranger took a swig of his drink. Taking a tentative sip of the gifted cocktail, Tim eyed the other man with interest.

He had to be a few years older than himself, but had a lean, athletic build and an energy that made him seem younger. The thumb and forefinger visible through the open fingers of his gloves on each hand were calloused, littered with thin scars. In profile, it was difficult to read the man's expression, the eyepatch, glowing with a thin strip of light and the high collar of his jacket obscuring his face.

“…Thanks. For the drink,” Tim said, somewhat stiffly.

“Don’t mention it. Name’s Zane, by the way.”

“Tim.”

They drank in silence, the noise of the bar rising and falling around them like waves breaking against the shore. Somewhat mollified that he wasn’t about to be killed, Tim relaxed a bit, letting himself sink deeper into the alcohol fuelled haze.

He may have just run through possible escape routes thinking Zane was looking to off him, but with the current state of Tim’s bank account, the doppelganger was not about to turn down free booze.

When Zane was down to the dregs of his second beer, he turned his head, blue eye trained intently on Tim.

“So. How’s about we get outta here and get the ride?”

“A ride where?”

Zane brayed laughter into his glass. “Ah, right. What I mean is, are ya down to fuck?”

Sputtering, Tim choked on his drink. “W-what?”

“Ya heard me,” Zane chuckled, draining the last of his drink. “Friendly conversation doesn’t seem to be doin’ much for ya.”

“Are you this forward with everyone?” Tim asked incredulously.

Zane’s moustache tilted crookedly as his grin widened. “Not everyone. I still have my standards, afterall.”

“I’m flattered,” the doppelganger shot back tonelessly.

“Listen,” Zane pressed on, thrusting his empty mug into the bartender bot’s open digits. “I’ve just spent the past day an’ a half moppin’ the floor with these Maliwan bastards, and I’ve built up quite an appetite.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. Jack used to talk about combat making him amorous, which had always kind of creeped him out. Tim might kill for a living, but he didn’t take that sort of satisfaction from it.

“Lot of blokes get riled up like that,” Zane explained, misinterpreting Tim’s scrunched up look. “Use that sexual frustration for their work, y’see, lettin’ that hunger pile up. Makes ‘em vicious as a beast, but careless.” Zane pulled a face of his own, obviously not a pupil of that school of thought.

“Me, I don’t let any dry spell extend to a drought, if ye get my drift. Keeps me sharp so I can rain down cold blooded murder when I need to without rushing off like a madman.”

Tim frowned in disbelief, the words themselves making sense but the logic lost on him. “Are you seriously making the argument that an active sex life makes a more efficient assassin?”

Zane shrugged. “Guess so. Been workin’ for me so far, anyway.” He leaned in closer, breaching Tim’s personal space. “Look, I’m not gonna keep pestering ya, but if you’re game, I’ll be waiting for ya in the men’s.”

“The restroom? Seriously?” Tim asked, unimpressed, eye darting to the washroom door through the throng of bar patrons.

Zane stood, shoulders raised in another shrug. “Hey, if you’re looking to class it up an’ get a room somewhere it’s on me.” Clapping a hand on Tim’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze, the assasin leaned in close, side burns tickling Tim’s cheek. Goosebumps fanned over Tim’s skin as hot breath ghosted it, Zane’s gruff voice a low growl that reverberated deep into his core.

“But ya have the look of a man used to living a bit ‘adventurously.’”

The pressure on his shoulder and breath on his skin was gone a moment later as Zane walked away.

Heart beating faster, Tim looked at his half finished drink, swirling the liquid in the glass. He didn’t know how accurate Zane’s last comment was; in the years after his escapades on Elpis on Jack’s payroll, he’d gotten accustomed to the Vault Hunter and contract killer lifestyle, albeit reluctantly. He may not be repulsed by gore and blood like he used to be, but he was still terrified of heights and, if fate had been kinder, would much prefer working a more respectable, less deadly profession.

He should just pay his tab, leave, find a shuttle and get off this rock, he reasoned. That, at least, seemed the sensible choice.

However, being good and drunk now, Tim was filled with just the right blend of self loathing and lack of inhibitions that made banging a stranger in the bathroom of a seedy bar sound like the right course of action.

Besides…he hadn’t been propositioned in a good long while, and he admitted there was still that itch deep within him that longed to be scratched. Zane was nice to look at, the lithe body, the rugged but strangely elegant features, even the accent kind of did it for him…

Whether he was the “adventurous” type Zane pegged him for or not, Tim left his drink unfinished and weaved through the drunken crowd to take up the invitation.

The restroom door swung open and Tim was nearly bowled over by a stumbling Atlas troop heading in the opposite direction. As it swung shut, the noise of the bar was still audible but relatively muffled. Tim and Zane, who was leaning casually against a tile wall, were the only occupants left, save for the man still passed out in the corner.

 _Least I think he’s just passed out_ , Tim grimaced.

Seeing his invitee had arrived, Zane pushed off the wall and disappeared into the stall furthest from the door. The small voice in Tim’s head, the one screaming that this was a terrible idea, tried one last time to be heard through the fog of alcohol. Before he could rethink the decision, Tim was locking the dented and scuffed stall door behind him.

Turning within the tight space, Zane was only a few inches away, his gloved hands wasting no time encircling Tim’s waist, pulling their bodies together. Tentatively returning the touches, the doppelganger could feel firm muscle through the layers of clothing, could feel the heat of Zane’s chest as it pressed against his. Pulse quickening nervously, Tim felt out of his element, lost. He was no blushing virgin, but truth be told, sex in a public restroom was a first for him.

“So, uh,” Tim started, shuddering as he felt Zane’s teeth on his earlobe, the other man’s stubble rough against the smooth skin of his neck. “How - how do we do this?”

Zane rubbed up against Tim, wrenching low moans from them both. Tim felt his cock stirring to life, chasing away some of his lingering doubts.

“Well, for a start,” Zane growled in his ear, hands making quick work of Tim’s belt and holster straps. “Was gonna get these off and your pants down.”

Tim was impressed with the efficiency as his holster was hung on a wobbly hook on the stall door before Zane pulled down the zipper so he could snake his hand into Tim’s underwear. Palms dragging up over Zane’s chest, Tim was slightly frustrated with the multiple layers, unable to get his hands on skin.

Supple leather and the rough callouses of Zane’s exposed fingers caressed his cock to full hardness. “Shit,” Tim grit out, fingers gripping Zane’s shoulders as the other man pumped him in slow, deliberate strokes. His hips jerked impulsively into the touch, and he bit back a moan as Zane gave his length a firm squeeze.

Tim had just set his mind on figuring out the buckles on Zane’s belt and holster when the sound of the bathroom door slamming open made him start. Heavy footsteps stomped in as a burst of noise from the bar filled the room before it was again muffled.

Zane, who seemed entirely unperturbed by their visiter, continued his ministrations as Tim’s whole body tensed. “Zane,” he whispered urgently, trying not to gasp as the older man gave his length another possessive squeeze.

As the decidedly unsexy sounds of a man urinating and noisily clearing his throat echoed off the tiled walls, Tim did his best to stifle the small noises Zane was eagerly trying to coax out of him. “Think you can keep it quiet, boyo?” Zane mouthed against his neck, his grin pressing into Tim’s skin as his hand stroked faster.

Not entirely confident he could, Tim nodded, not wanting the sensation to end. Busying his own hands, Tim winced at the loud click of Zane’s belt buckle. He listened but only heard the water in the sink running and heavy footsteps rejoining the noise of the bar.

They were alone once again.

Zane panted into his ear as Tim undid the older man's holster, hanging it along with his own on the back of the stall door. Sliding Zane's pants down his slim waist, Tim eased out the other man's straining erection.

“You got a preference, Tim?” Zane breathed, gaze drifting between them to watch the work of their hands, stroking and pulling and slick with pre. 

Taking a moment to understand the question, and a further moment to decide, Tim chewed his lip. “Bottom. Usually. But…it’s - it's been a while and —“

“’s alright,” Zane interjected, reaching back into one of his pockets to withdraw a tube of lube and condom, which he pressed into Tim’s hand.

Not wasting any time, Zane wriggled his pants further down to rest around his knees. Tim did the same, pushing his pants just low enough to free his cock and balls, eyes lingering on the swollen red length of Zane’s erection jutting out towards him, framed by coarse, neatly trimmed hair. He licked his lips as he looked between his own legs, unwrapping the condom to roll it over the leaking tip back to the base.

It was a bit awkward shuffling around in such a tight space, but Zane turned to face the tiled wall of the stall, squeezing a dollop of lube on his pointer finger.

“Prefer not to get it all over me gloves,” Zane remarked offhandedly as he reached back to circle the pad of his finger over the puckered entrance between his cheeks.

“Here,” Tim held out his hand. Zane handed him the tube, grunting quietly as he worked in his slicked digit. Watching the older man’s finger disappear to the knuckle, Tim squeezed some out onto his own fingers.

“Let me.”

Zane withdrew his finger and instead used his hands to anchor himself against the wall, palms flat as he raised his hips in offering.

Fingers following the slick path Zane’s had made, Tim eased his middle and pointer finger in, tight muscle clamping down on them, pulling him in. Twisting his fingers, Tim scissored his digits within Zane, seeking out the other man's prostate. He knew he’d found it when a whoosh of air shuddered out of Zane’s lungs and a visible shiver ran through his body.

“C’mon,” Zane urged, angling his hips up enticingly. “Not gettin’ any younger.”

Not one to argue, Tim gave his fingers a few more teasing curls before sliding them out. He squeezed a liberal amount of lube out onto his cock and spread it over the latex, wiping the excess over the fluttering muscle of Zane’s entrance.

With one hand gripping his slicked up cock, the other resting on Zane’s hip, Tim lined himself up, pressing forward to ease himself in.

Zane’s fingers tensed against the tiled wall, his head rolling back as he let loose a guttural groan. “Aaah that’s the stuff,” he moaned, pressing back to take Tim right to the hilt, making the younger man gasp in surprise, his blunt nails cutting crescent shapes into Zane’s skin.

Zane continued to bear down on him, working his hips to effectively fuck himself on Tim’s cock, his head thrown back, jaw slack as his mouth hung open in silent bliss.

Tim’s eyes were locked on where they were joined, his hands spreading Zane wider, watching with rapt attention as his length was swallowed again and again by Zane's willing body. Feeling a bit guilty letting Zane do all the work, Tim thrust forward as the other man pressed back, hips digging into the firm muscle of the assassin’s ass, and they established a working rhythm.

The loud slaps of their skin were impossible to mask in the silent restroom, punctuated by startled, guttural cries when Tim angled his trusts just right, or when Zane tensed purposefully around him. Their frantic movements, contained within the dingy bathroom stall, caused sweat to bead in the hollow of Zane’s back, on Tim’s brow, his messy locks sticking damply to his forehead as pleasure bloomed through his alcohol soaked body.

As if on cue, the sound of shattering glass followed by boisterous cheers rang out as the bathroom door swung open. Shuffling footsteps and a loud bang echoed through the washroom as whoever had entered stumbled drunkenly into a vacant stall, swearing loudly.

Tim froze again, hoping this new guest would leave as soon as the first. Zane, on the other hand, had no intention of waiting. He impatiently ground his hips, ass pressed flush against Tim’s heated skin.

Biting his lip, Tim tightened his grip on Zane, trying to still the other man’s movements.

Meanwhile, the drunk interloper continued stumbling around clumsily. There was mumbled grunting and the sound of a zipper. They were again subjected to the unpleasant sound of the urinal being used, but the doppelganger hardly heard it.

Zane, not to be deterred by the younger man’s iron grip, circled his hips where they were held in place, shifting Tim’s cock within him, making them both gasp.

The restroom door opened again and there was a mumbled greeting between the two men outside their stall.

 _Fuck_ , Tim lamented silently, heart thudding in his chest, as the two men started chatting amicably, all the while Zane relentlessly writhed against him.

Seeking a different avenue to curb Zane’s determined motions, Tim pressed forward roughly, sandwiching the other man against the wall. The cry Zane let out as the unexpected push changed the angle of their bodies, pushing Tim’s cock deeper within him, was blessedly masked by the loud braying laughter of the two men washing their hands at the restroom sinks.

“Zane, please,” Tim pleaded in the assassin’s ear, his breath disturbing the close-cropped platinum locks.

Zane looked over his shoulder, breathlessly retorting, “It’s nothing they’ve never seen before.”

Not the answer he was looking for, Tim clapped his hand over Zane’s mouth and pressed his body hard against Zane’s, desperately trying to keep the older man in place.

The movement had the opposite of Tim’s desired effect. Zane’s cry was muffled by the hand over his mouth. One of the contract killer’s hands left the wall to reach back and clutch at Tim’s hip. Equally affected, Tim’s head lolled forward, his forehead resting against the cool leather of Zane's jacket as the other man clenched around him needily.

Tim wasn’t sure what was happening outside the stall anymore as the logical part of his drunken brain shut fully off and lust took over. Zane was so tight, hot and hungry around him. The doppelganger’s skin prickled, heat coiling in his groin.

He officially stopped caring if they were found out.

“Think you can keep it quiet?” Tim whispered, mimicking the hit man’s earlier words. Muffled laughter and the man’s mustache tickled his palm as Zane nodded, his own gloved hand on Tim’s hip insistently pulling their bodies closer.

Keeping one hand firmly over Zane’s mouth, the other gripping the older man’s hip hard enough to bruise, Tim snapped his own hips forward. Zane’s breath was hot on his fingers, the sound of his moans only partially stifled as Tim drilled into him.

The renewed slap of their skin was unmistakable and the conversation of the men outside faltered. Tim was glad he was drunk enough not to be embarrassed, not to worry about what strangers would think, or of any repercussions for fucking in a public men’s room. He had a sole purpose in this moment, to chase this mounting pleasure, slamming roughly into Zane, who met the thrusts with the same desperation.

There was more laughter as one of the men slapped the door of their stall before their footsteps retreated towards the restroom door. A blast of sound and then muffled quiet again, at last, as their visitors left.

Tim took his hand off Zane’s mouth, immediately freeing the husky cries each hard thrust wrenched out of the hit man’s pliant body. A trickle of sweat rolled down the doppelgänger’s face as he pulled Zane back into each punishing thrust. Zane's hands clenched against the smooth tile for purchase.

“Fuck me, Tim,” Zane growled, his gruff voice hoarse. His back was arched gracefully, ass pressing back into Tim, shoulders and head thrown back wantonly.

Gritting his teeth, Tim abandoned all restraint, racing towards the tipping point. His thrusts grew clumsy and messy as he reached around, fumbling for Zane’s cock. Slick with sweat and precome, Tim’s palm slid smoothly over the velvety hardness, not even trying to match the rhythm of his hips, striving only to pull Zane over the edge with him.

He’d stopped listening for any further intrusions, and could only hope no one was in the restroom as Zane moaned long and low, pressing his forehead against the tile as he hit his climax, knees shaking as he painted the tile wall with thick ropes of come.

“Oooh fuck, fuck,” Tim gasped, hot spurts filling the condom, cock pulsing as orgasm crashed into him as he milked Zane’s finish. It seemed endless, his body gripped by a powerful ecstasy, mixing with the potent cocktail of alcohol coursing through his veins.

Breathing hard, it took some time before Tim realized he was still pressing Zane into the wall.

“Sorry,” Tim mumbled, his words slightly slurred. His lips and eyelids and limbs felt heavy, his entire body in a sluggish stupor. They both let out a low sound as Tim pulled out. Zane didn’t immediately move from where he rested against the wall, fingers still splayed across the cool tile, his shoulders rising and falling as his breathing slowed back to normal.

Gingerly pulling off the condom, Tim toed the lid of the toilet up with his boot and tossed it in.

As Tim tucked himself back into his pants and retrieved his holster off the back of the stall door, Zane seemed to come down from his high. The older man straightened, pulling up and buttoning his pants as he turned away from the wall.

“Well now,” Zane grinned, the buckle of his belt clicking as he reached for his own holster. “Don’t ya feel better now?”

Tim laughed, and smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. “That’s definitely an understatement.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Zane almost purred, pressing up against him. He pressed their lips together, the first kiss shared during this impromptu tryst. Tim’s lip twitched as Zane’s moustache tickled, but melted into the slow dance of lips and tongue.

He signed contently into Zane’s open mouth before they parted. “Are…you going to be on Promethea much longer?” By the grace of alcohol and afterglow, the words spilled out of Tim’s mouth before he could stop them. 

Zane finished smoothing out his jacket and adjusting his belt. His visible blue eye met Tim’s. “Probably got some more noses to bloody before I go, yeah,” he answered casually. 

“Us professional killer types don’t really carry round business cards, but here’s my comm if you ever wanna get the ride again,” he winked. Or Tim assumed it was meant to be a wink. With only one eye visible, it was hard to tell.  

Tim nodded, and tried to accept Zane’s ECHO details as cooly as possible, an excited flutter in his stomach.

With one last crooked grin and a clap on his shoulder, Zane unlocked the stall and squeezed out, his boots thudding against the floor before being swallowed up by the noise back in the bar. Tim took a few more moments to compose himself, slipping out of the stall to check his reflection in the mirror.

He still looked worse for wear, the shadow of stubble and tired circles under his eyes no lighter, but he felt better than he had in recent memory. His eyes drifted to the corner where, earlier, there’d been the man passed out under the sinks. He was gone now, which proved he hadn’t actually died, but Tim wondered at what point the man had made his exit.

Splashing water on his face again, The doppelganger conceded that none of the problems he faced had been solved by his tangle with Zane, but he at least felt a glimmer of renewed optimism in facing them. He left the restroom and headed to the bar to pay his tab, only to be informed by the bartender bot that Tim’s companion had settled it.

The air outside the bar was blessedly cool, the faint breeze lifting his overgrown mane of grey and chestnut hair. The street was more or less deserted, abandoned storefronts dark, moonlight glinting off shattered glass and empty bullet shells littering the ground.

 _Thanks Zane,_ Tim thought silently, breathing in a fresh lungful of the night air.


End file.
